


There But For Grace

by Lemonykitten



Series: There But For Grace [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonykitten/pseuds/Lemonykitten
Summary: This fic is a bit of a passion project, where my Sociology brain and my Writer brain meet in the middle and answer a question nobody asked: How would this story change with the addition of another character, from the very beginning? Enter Grace Winchester, Dean's tiny, angry twin sister. Will having her around make things harder? Easier? Only one way to find out.
Series: There But For Grace [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878613
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	There But For Grace

_Lawrence, Kansas, 22 years earlier:_

Mary Winchester entered the nursery, hoisting her son Dean onto her hip. She paused in front of the mahogany crib, looking back towards the open door.

“Grace, hurry up sweetie, it’s time to say good night to Sammy!”

“Coming mommy!” the little girl bounced into the room, freshly brushed teeth displayed in a bright smile.

Mary laughed softly and turned towards the crib, setting Dean on his feet and lowering the crib gate so the twins could reach their tiny baby brother. Grace kissed the baby gently on his cheek, while Dean patted his little feet.

“Goodnight Sammy,” they said in unison.

“There’s double trouble,” came a rough voice from behind them.

The twins whirled around, their faces lighting up at the sight of their father home early from work.

“Daddy!!” they chorused, rushing into his arms.

He laughed, lifting the pair up into an embrace, scratching his beard against their cheeks and making them giggle. Mary approached them slowly, a small sad smile on her face as she met her husband’s eyes. The big man set the two children gently on their feet, ruffling their hair and eliciting identical reproachful squawks.

“Okay, bedtime, kiddos,” Mary said.

“Race you!” Dean shouted to his sister.

Immediately, the pair streaked out of the nursery and into their own room, laughing and hollering all the way. Mary and John both grinned, following slowly after the twins to tuck them into bed for the night.

Later that night, Mary woke to the staticy sound of Sam fussing over the baby monitor. She sat up slowly, stretching and yawning. Unsurprisingly, the right side of the bed was empty and cold. With a sigh, Mary stood and shuffled slowly out the door and down the short hall, shivering as the worn carpet gave way to cool wood beneath her bare feet. She stopped in the doorway to the nursery, a tall man’s broad shoulders blocking the light coming in from the window above the crib.

“John, is he hungry?” she murmured with a yawn.

The man turned his head, still heavy with shadows, and simply said “Sssshhhhhh.”

Mary made a face and rolled her eyes, “Okay…” She didn’t add the implied _whatever_.

She turned to go back to bed, but only made it a couple of steps before she paused, the sound of quietly crackling electricity making her turn. The light at the end of the hall flickered. A thought tickled at the back of her sleep-fogged mind as she approached it, tapping gently on the glass until the light steadied. Then another sound drew her attention: low volumed shouting and explosions. She tilted her head to the side and frowned. _Had John left the TV on?_

She padded quietly down the stairs, intending to turn the TV off and then coaxing her austere husband to come to bed for once. Nearing the bottom of the staircase, she froze, her eyes going wide as they adjusted to the dim lighting of the war documentary glowing from the TV set. John lay sprawled in his chair, head turned away from the light of the TV, snoring softly. _If John is down here, who’s with -_

“Sammy!” she hissed with horror, whirling around and charging back up the stairs to protect her infant son.

Her pained shriek a moment later shattered the silence of the house, jerking John awake from his arm chair. 

“Mary?!? He called, alarm spiking through him.

His heavy footfalls pounded up the stairs and down the hall. He slammed the nursery door open, calling his wife’s name again. 

But the room was empty.

John looked around the little room in confusion, his brow furrowed. _I could have sworn… Did I dream it? Probably too many war documentaries before bed…_ Sam fussed softly in his crib. With heart still pounding, and breathing a little heavily from the sprint up the stairs, the big man moved forward to the crib, lowering the moving side to reach the baby from a more comfortable angle. 

“Hey Sammy,” John whispered, “Okay? It’s okay.”

He smiled warmly at his infant son. Then paused as a dark red spot appeared on the blanket near the baby’s head. He frowned again and reached out to touch the spot, when several more scarlet speckles spattered across the back of his hand. He whipped his head up towards the ceiling, and his eyes widened in horror and revulsion.

Mary stared down at him, gasping in pain. Her back was pressed flush against the ceiling, arms out to her sides and her legs bent beneath her at an awkward angle. Her pale blonde hair pooled around her head, and a ribbon of too familiar scarlet arced across her belly. Blood dripped from the ugly wound, and Mary’s eyes reddened with tears that would not, or perhaps could not, fall. 

John stumbled backwards, falling to the floor, and called his wife’s name again, his throat tight with fear and grief. 

Suddenly, orange-gold flames rippled outward across the ceiling, the bright heat striking John full in the face, making him flinch backwards. The fire slowly engulfed Mary’s body, terror and agony etched on her pale face.

“Mommy?”

John’s head jerked towards the tiny, quavering voice coming from the open doorway. Grace stood there, in nightgown and bare feet, staring up at the roiling blaze that, a moment ago, had been her mother. John’s mind stuttered and churned, trying to keep up with the situation, but all he could think was _Bad bad bad bad, very not good._

Sammy shrieking from the crib beside him shook the big man out of his stupor. He leaped to his feet and scooped the baby into his arms, then rushed over to Grace, blocking the little girl’s view of the unfolding nightmare. John placed the infant into his four year old daughter’s arms.

“Gracie, Gracie look at me,” the little girl focused on her father’s face as she clutched the baby, “Gracie, take your brothers outside and don’t look back.”

She took several steps backwards, her shoulder bumping against Dean as her twin joined her in the hall.

“Go!” Their father shouted.

The pair needed no further prompting. They turned and ran as quickly as they could down the hall. Grace stumbled once on the stairs, but Dean caught her, and they made their way across the living room and out the front door into the cool night air. The children stopped on the front lawn, panting and shivering. The dew-wet grass beneath their feet was sharply cold. Sam continued to cry as Grace gently rocked him.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” she murmured softly, “Don’t worry, it’s alright.”

Dean looked up at the nursery room window, filled with menacing, flickering light. Grace’s gaze followed, and the twins swallowed hard. Then John swooped in behind them, tucking a toddler under each arm and sprinting away from the burning house. Just as they cleared the property line, the upstairs exploded. Light and heat boiled out of the shattered windows, devouring the family’s home.

The sound of sirens filled the night air as fire trucks and police cars spilled down the road. Neighbors crowded at the edges of their properties, eyes wide and mouths agape, as the Winchester house burned. Across the street, sitting on the back of an old, well-maintained Impala, John cradled his infant son. Sammy fussed softly in his arms. Dean sniffled, leaning against his father’s side and trying not to cry. Grace huddled close to her twin, her dry eyes staring far away.

After several long moments, a police officer with a small notepad approached the shivering family.

“Okay. Let’s get started.”


End file.
